Strength Enough
by Drop Your Oboe
Summary: -The Scarlet Letter- Cannot the holy path be abandoned for one lit with a brighter glow than pretense sheds? O God, if thou still can hear me, answer me that one question. On the scaffold, Hester reflects on where she is and what brought her there.


I will admit that in some part of me, I knew it was wrong. But to the rest- to whatever was not that part- it felt so good, so true.

I know that to desecrate God's holy sacrament of marriage is a sin. But what if the marriage was a farce, no more than a charade of a happy hearth and home? What then? Must the holy path be followed if it leads to nowhere? Can it not be abandoned for one that is lit with a brighter glow than pretense sheds? O God, my Heavenly Father, if thou still can hear me, answer me that one question.

I came to this settlement a married woman, yes, but in name only. Does not a marriage imply mutual, true warmth? I had none. It is true enough that I had some affection for my husband, and he for me- but not enough, and not any amount, in my mind, to constitute marriage in anything but law.

But the moment I saw him! - the first time I attended his church - my heart stopped and my breath came quickly, and indeed I reprimanded myself for that, for I was, after all, in God's house. But when the service finally let out (never have I been so glad for a sermon to end), and I was once again in the safety of my own home, I dared to think on him, alone in my empty, cold room with a pillow clutched to my chest.

The first time he touched me- to take my hand in greeting when the next Sunday's service closed- a shock ran through our clasped hands. Startled, I looked up, and saw him looking back at me with the same expression, before he buried it away and wished me a good afternoon. And yet, I think, he kept my hand in his longer than was absolutely necessary. And that was when I knew I loved him, with all the passion and fire that had been wasted in my joke of a marriage, and that he felt the same.

Ah, poets could have written tales of us two, of our forbidden affections, of our clandestine trysts. We knew it was wrong- we knew, in the eyes of God, it was sin- but I felt that somehow, we had a consecration all our own. And indeed, I would have thought myself dreaming had he not startled at the same moment as I, and we knew, without speaking, that somehow, somewhere, ours was a blessed union.

Though blessings come in all shapes and sizes, and not all are convenient.

* * *

I had not thought they had noticed, as I myself had barely registered it, but they did, they had, and with my husband absent these past two years, tongues began to wag. And so thanks to some midwife's watchful eye, I became the main feature in the town gossip- Hester Prynne, I heard them whisper, though they did not see me there- Hester Prynne is unfaithful, disgraceful. Hester Prynne is carrying a child not her husband's.

Truly, I hardly know it myself. But when one's condition is the talk of the town, it cannot so easily be denied.

They will question me, but I cannot reveal the name of my child's father. It would absolutely ruin him, crumble the career that he has worked so long to build up, plant seeds of dishonor in this community that loves him so. I cannot bring myself to do it- the love I have for him is far too great for me to shame him in such a way. No, he will have to do the honorable thing and come forwards himself. For I have another problem to deal with now, one that I can no longer dispute. It is only a matter of time before the magistrates begin to ask questions. All that is left to do now is wait.

* * *

Every day, I am shunned more and more; every day I am pushed farther towards the outermost limits of society. In the beginning the townspeople were lenient with me, waiting for me to reveal my child's father, but when I would not they grew cold and unyielding. To them I am a stained woman, a harlot, and an abomination, and I can see it in their faces as I walk past: they hate me.

At first I did not see, but as the days and weeks went by I could not fail to notice glances averted and children hurried out of my path, shopkeepers and neighbors alike ignoring me. The ministers, when they chance to pass me in the street, huff in disapproval and hurry by, all save one: and he looks at me with sorrow and confusion and pride. Poor man, he knows not what to think. How I wish that this love of ours was a sanctioned thing! How I wish we could be a family, the two of us- or the three of us, I should say.

He, too, hurries by me, but for a different reason. He seems to be in agony. I think he cannot live with the sin-stain on his soul, or at least with it covered and hidden away from those who suppose his heart to be a pure and snowy white. The guilt is eating away at him from the inside, for he cannot bring himself to admit it. I cannot help but love the man, but he is so weak in character, lacking in bravery. I suppose he thinks I am luckier than he: I, who cannot help but disclose my sin, have no responsibility to my conscience to confess.

He may be right.

* * *

Heavenly Father, hear me, answer me, please. Until this day I had not thought of it, but now I am unsure if You meant this as my punishment or my reward.

Gone is any regard once held for me, gone is my status in this society. Gone is any reputation I had, and along with that most respect for me.

But this beautiful child- my daughter- God, I do not understand. Have You, in your mercy, impressed an angel's features upon my little girl's face, or have You made her in the physical image of all I lost when I gained her?

Though I suppose it matters little. What good can come to her in this society, the daughter of the town harlot? What will she have save double the counsel against sin?

In two months we face the public eye, and the ministers.

In two months I face _him_.

God, if you still listen to me, lend me strength for this. On our own we have no future, no prospects, no one save each other. But if he speaks- and I pray he will- then we will still have no one but each other, but we will be lucky to survive the stones flung at our backs as we retreat from the town.

I will be as strong for you as I can, my daughter, my Pearl, but I do not know how long I can hold out.

Oh God, help me. I am so, so scared.

* * *

Many times have I passed the scaffold, walking through the town, and yet never have I imagined what it is like to be on it. The crowds press in, grossly eager to catch a glimpse of the shamed woman, ensconced here where all can see her, scarlet letter flaming on her breast. I remember a time when I would have been among them, and I shudder inwardly to think it.

But I will not show them my fear.

Pearl is mine, and no other's, through natural and true love. There is no shame in that, and so why should they think I feel it? And there is no use in covering the scarlet letter, for I hold its proof in my arms.

Had I no reserve, my cheeks would be flushed, my hands trembling, and I believe I would cry out until my throat was hoarse. But they _shall not_ see that. For my sake, and Pearl's.

His, too. As I stand here, a voice calls out to me, and I turn to receive my judgment. Out eyes lock, and for a moment, I cannot take my eyes off his face. I have always been able to read him, and now what I see is that he will not speak, he cannot bring himself to do it.

Very well, then: I shall not give him up. He must find the courage for that within himself, for mine is nearly spent.

Let them see me like this, with this child in my arms and this letter upon my breast, with no man beside me to share in my suffering. I have strength enough to brave this storm alone.

* * *

_This was actually an assignment for my English class, the best writing assignment I've had in a while. We were required to write a narrativ, with specified details and from the point of view of an assigned character that took place before the book began. Lucky for me, I got Hester._

_Like it?_


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